Chapter 17
Sayla
W hen I finally closed up at Delicious Divas, I felt like I was walking on bones instead of feet. My back ached, my fingers still smelled faintly of lavender shampoo and acetone, and I’d reached that level of tiredness where everything started to feel a little floaty. The kind of tired where you don't think, you just moved on autopilot.
All I wanted was to get home—myhome.
The place was finally ready after everything with the contractors and the pipe disaster. It was clean, dry, freshly patched, and waiting for me like it had missed me. Well, if a house could miss its owner, that was, which was unlikely. I was starting to think this house hated me.
Roque showed up at the salon around closing. He’d said he missed me and just wanted to se me, and sure, part of me believed that—hoped for it even—but the rest of me, the part that paid attention to things others, didn’t. That was the part of me that’d clocked the tension in his jaw. The way his eyes kept scanning the street behind me, the corners of the salon, and the parking lot through the blinds like he was expecting something to crawl out of the shadows.
When he asked me to pull my car into the garage that night, the words came out soft, almost casual, but the undercurrent was anything but.
Something was happening, and he wasn’t ready to tell me what.
After he left, I was still sweeping up loose hairs when Evie came out from the back, already tugging her jacket on.
“He’s probably still out of whack,” she explained, tying her scarf. “Kemble’s death… it wrecked him. You know that.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“It wasn’t just friendship with them. It was deeper, like they were two sides of something. Losing someone like that”—she shook her head— “that doesn’t go away fast.”
I thought about the funeral. I’d mainly gone for the kids to help where I could and ensure they weren’t overwhelmed. I remembered Roque standing there with them, stoic on the surface, but I’d seen it—the devastation underneath buried deep.
He hadn’t cried, he’d just kept them close and held it together, putting their comfort and grief above his own.
He was still breaking. Quietly. In the kind of way that could go unnoticed for far too long.
I locked the door behind Evie and stood momentarily staring out into the dim street. Something wasn’t right, and Roque was trying to carry it all alone. He might not be ready to tell me what it was, but I’d be ready when he did.
The sky was that hazy, steel-blue color that made it feel later than it was as I pulled out of the lot. I was halfway home when I remembered I had nothing in the fridge.
After the bath-through-the-ceiling disaster, everything perishable had either gone bad or gotten tossed. And whatever I’d taken over to Roque’s during the snowstorm had probably been long devoured by now. I’d meant to restock days ago, but life—loud, chaotic, and full of unexpected visits from tired, beautiful men who couldn’t hide their worry—had gotten in the way.
So, I pulled into the grocery store, grabbing a cart with a busted wheel and a mind of its own. I picked up the milk first, then some eggs, bread, and frozen meals for the days I knew I’d be too tired to cook. Looping back, I picked up a few fruits and vegetables to make myself feel like I was trying.
By the time I reached the end of the aisles, the cart had become a confession of a woman trying to remember how to live alone again.
I stood in front of the wine shelf for a minute too long, debating between red or white before finally grabbing a bottle of rosé with a vaguely artistic label. I didn’t need it, but I’d earned it.
I loaded the groceries into the backseat and slid into the driver’s seat, feeling the fatigue settle into my bones again. But there was something comforting about the bags in the back—like the first step to getting back into my own rhythm.
The roads home were lit in a golden wash of headlights and storefront glow, busy but not chaotic. Still, for some reason, as I passed the turn for the library, I glanced up at the rearview mirror.
Nothing drew my eyes there—no sound, no motion—just instinct. And even then, I wasn’t sure what I expected to see. Headlights, obviously, plenty of them. It was the after-work rush, and everyone had the same idea: get what you need, get home, shut the door.
But something about the mirror made me stare a second too long. My hands stayed on the wheel, but my gut gave a little twist. It wasn’t panic, not yet, just that subtle shift in your chest when something you can’t quite name slides into your awareness.
I told myself it was nothing, just a long day and my brain catching Roque’s nervous energy and twisting it into shadows.
Still, I adjusted the mirror again and kept checking it.
When I turned onto my street, the groceries were sliding around in the back seat with every gentle curve. My house waited at the end, the porch light casting a soft glow across the steps. It looked peaceful and normal, like nothing bad had ever touched it—like nothing ever would.
At the last second, Roque’s voice echoed in my mind, telling me to pull into the garage tonight, so I turned the wheel, easing up the driveway.
To my surprise, the garage door groaned to life immediately, rising with a mechanical hum. The thing hadn’t worked properly in months. I’d half-expected it to sputter, blink, then give up like it usually did. But it hadn’t, and what waited behind it nearly made me laugh.
The chaos I’d left in there—boxes of God-knows-what shoved wherever they’d fit during the renovation—had been organized and stacked neatly against the back wall like it had been inventoried, possibly even categorized.
Whoever Roque had brought in to do this either had obsessive-compulsive tendencies or was a borderline psychopath. Maybe both.
I pulled in slowly, glancing around like I’d just entered someone else’s garage. The door behind me rumbled closed automatically, making me flinch in my seat.
I got out, grabbed my bag, and reached for groceries when an arm slid around my waist in the dark.
I nearly screamed.
A hand, warm and gentle, covered my mouth before the panic could break loose.
“It’s me,” Roque whispered, breath brushing my ear. “You’re okay.”
I twisted in his arms and kissed him, the relief hitting like a second heartbeat. Then I pulled back just enough to hiss, “You scared theshitout of me.”
A noise behind us—something shifting near the back of the garage—made me jump again.
Roque kept his hand on my waist. “It’s just Judd,” he said calmly. “He’s checking over your car. Don’t panic.”
I blinked, still trying to recalibrate. “Should I be panicking?”
“Not if we stay ahead of it,” he said ominously. Then his voice dropped into something softer but no less serious. “I’m putting a tracker in your car. I need your phone, the sneakers you wear to work, and anything else you always have on you. We’re tagging everything.”
I didn’t argue. I reached into my coat pocket and handed over my phone without hesitation. “You’re not getting the shoes yet, though. I’m wearing them into the house. It’s cold, and my feet hurt.”
He smirked and brushed a kiss on my temple. “Just go through the side door and act normal. We’ll meet you inside in five.”
I gave him a look. “Normal?”
He arched a brow. “Like you didn’t nearly punch me in the garage.”
I rolled my eyes but turned, grabbing the groceries and slipping out the side door into the cool night air. Even with adrenaline humming through my blood, I trusted them, and whatever was going on, I knew I wasn’t walking into it alone.
I slipped through the side door, groceries cradled in my arms and used my elbow to hit the lights. The hallway lit up with a comforting glow. I crossed to the front room and pulled the wooden blinds shut, one by one. It was part of my routine—lights on, blinds closed—keeping the warmth in and the outside world out. That counted as ‘normal,’ right? But as I moved into the kitchen, something felt off.
I stepped through the doorway—and froze. Four people were standing in my kitchen.
I smacked a hand over my mouth to muffle the scream that nearly launched itself from my throat and almost dropped the damn milk.
Roque, Judd, a woman I didn’t know, and another man watched me with amusement. I stared at them, my heart thudding like it wanted out of my chest.
“Sorry,” Roque said quickly, stepping forward. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”
“They let us in while you were at the store,” the woman added gently. “Didn’t want you walking into a dark house alone.”
“Y’all should’ve waited in the living room,” Judd muttered. “This looks like an intervention.”
“You scared the life out of me,” I said into my palm, voice muffled. “You said five minutes, not five seconds.”
“We work fast,” Roque winced, glancing at the other man.
The serious one stepped forward, a slight tilt of apology in his expression. “I’m Kai.”
I nodded, still holding the milk to my chest. “Okay, Kai. Why are you in my kitchen?”
Roque’s eyes met mine, calm but cautious. “We think we’ve identified the guy who slashed your tire. We’re tracking him, but if he targeted you once, we need to be ready if he tries again.”
Kai opened a small black case and pulled out a ring. “We’re putting trackers on anything you regularly have on you. Your car, your phone—and if you’re willing—this.”
I looked at the ring—an aquamarine stone with subtle silver beading around the edge—and it was actually kind of pretty.
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you proposing to me, Kai?”
Roque grunted behind me—just a low noise of disapproval or jealousy, maybe both.
Kai’s mouth twitched. “Not unless you’ve got a thing for emotionally unavailable guys. It’s just something I had lying around, I figured it’d be useful.”
I held out my hand. “Well, it’s gorgeous. And I’ve definitely worn weirder things in my life.”
As he slipped the ring onto my finger, I turned to Roque. “How are the kids?”
“They’re good,” he said, his voice softening. “Kapono’s with them. Last I saw, he was losing a battle with turkey and a pair of kitchen scissors.”
I blinked. “What?”
“He was trying to cut them into cow shapes,” Roque explained with a faint smile. “It wasn’t going well.”
I laughed, finally able to let the tension crack just a little. I turned to the cupboard and reached onto the top shelf, pulling out a plastic bag filled with animal-shaped cookie cutters.
I passed it to Roque with a smile. “Tell him to use these. I don’t want to find shredded poultry on the walls when I visit next.”
Roque took the bag and shook his head with a quiet laugh. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t I know it,” I sighed, sliding the groceries onto the counter.
Even surrounded by people, even with the heaviness of everything going on, I suddenly felt a little steadier.
Because this was something like safety, trust, and I knew damn well I’d fight to keep it.